Shogun (126 page)

“Fly safe and true, little bird,” he said, caressing her with a fallen feather. “You carry a heritage of ten thousand years.”

Once more his eyes went to the city below. The smallest bar of light appeared on the west horizon. Down by the docks he could see the pinpricks of flares that surrounded the barbarian ship.

There’s another key, he thought, and he began to rethink the three secrets. He knew he had missed something.

“I wish Kiri were here,” he said to the night.

Mariko was kneeling in front of her polished metal mirror. She looked away from her face. In her hands was the dagger, catching the flickering oil light.

“I should use thee,” she said, filled with grief. Her eyes sought the Madonna and Child in the niche beside the lovely spray of flowers, and filled with tears. “I know suicide’s a mortal sin, but what can I do? How can I live with this shame? It’s better for me to do it before I’m betrayed.”

The room was quiet like the house. This was their family house, built within the innermost ring of defenses and the wide moat around the castle, where only the most favored and trusted hatamoto were allowed to live. Circling the house was a bamboo-walled garden and a tiny stream ran through it, tapped from the abundance of waters surrounding the castle.

She heard footsteps. The front gate creaked open and there was the sound of servants rushing to greet the master. Quickly she put the knife away in her obi and dried her tears. Soon there were footsteps and she opened her door, bowing politely.

In ill humor, Buntaro told her Toranaga had changed his mind again, that now he was ordered to Mishima temporarily. “I’ll leave at dawn. I wanted to wish you a safe journey—” He stopped and peered at her. “Why are you crying?”

“Please excuse me, Sire. It’s just because I’m a woman and life seems so difficult for me. And because of Toranaga-sama.”

“He’s a broken reed. I’m ashamed to say it. Terrible, but that’s what he’s become. We should go to war. Far better to go to war than to know the only future I’ve got is to see Ishido’s filthy face laughing at my
karma!”

“Yes, so sorry. I wish there was something I could do to help. Would you like saké or cha?”

Buntaro turned and bellowed at a servant who was waiting in the passageway. “Get saké! Hurry up!”

Buntaro walked into her room. Mariko closed the door. Now he stood at the window looking up at the castle walls and the donjon beyond.

“Please don’t worry, Sire,” she said placatingly. “The bath’s ready and I’ve sent for your favorite.”

He kept his eyes on the donjon, seething. Then he said, “He should resign in Lord Sudara’s favor if he’s not got the stomach for leadership anymore. Lord Sudara’s his son and legal heir,
neh? Neh?”

“Yes, Sire.”

“Yes. Or even better, he should do as Zataki suggested. Commit seppuku. Then we’d have Zataki and his armies fighting with us. With them and the muskets we could smash through to Kyoto, I know we could. Even if we failed, better that than give up like filthy, cowardly Garlic Eaters! Our Master’s forfeited all rights.
Neh? NEH?”
He whirled on her.

“Please excuse me—it’s not for me to say. He’s our liege lord.”

Buntaro turned back again, brooding, to stare at the donjon. Lights flickered on all levels. Particularly the sixth. “My advice to his Council is to invite him to depart, and if he won’t—to help him. There’s precedent enough! There are many who share my opinion, but not Lord Sudara, not yet. Maybe he does secretly, who knows about him, what he’s really thinking? When you meet his wife, when you meet Lady Genjiko, talk to her, persuade her. Then she’ll persuade him—she leads him by the nose,
neh?
You’re friends, she’ll listen to you. Persuade her.”

“I think that would be very bad to do, Sire. That’s treason.”

“I order you to talk to her!”

“I will obey you.”

“Yes, you’ll obey an order, won’t you?” he snarled. “Obey? Why are you always so cold and bitter? Eh?” He picked up her mirror and shoved it up to her face. “Look at yourself!”

“Please excuse me if I displease you, Sire.” Her voice was level and she stared past the mirror to his face. “I don’t wish to anger you.”
He watched her for a moment then sullenly tossed the mirror back onto the lacquered table. “I didn’t accuse you. If I thought that I’d … I wouldn’t hesitate.”

Mariko heard herself spit back, unforgivably, “Wouldn’t hesitate to do what? Kill me, Sire? Or leave me alive to shame me more?”

“I didn’t accuse you, only him!” Buntaro bellowed.

“But I accuse you!” she shrieked in return. “And you
did
accuse me!”

“Hold your tongue!”

“You shamed me in front of our lord! You accused me and you won’t do your duty! You’re afraid!
You’re
a coward! A filthy, garlic-eating coward!”

His sword came out of its scabbard, and she gloried in the fact that at least she had dared to push him over the brink.

But the sword remained poised in the air. “I … I have your … I have your promise before your … your God, in Osaka. Before we … we go into death … I have your promise and I … I hold you to that!”

Her baiting laugh was shrill and vicious. “Oh yes, mighty Lord. I’ll be your cushion just once more, but your welcome will be dry, bitter, and rancid!”

He hacked blindly with all his two-handed strength at a corner post and the blade sliced almost totally through the foot-thick seasoned beam. He tugged but the sword held fast. Almost berserk, he twisted it and fought it and then the blade snapped. With a final curse he hurled the broken haft through the flimsy wall and staggered drunkenly for the door. The quavering servant stood there with the tray and saké. Buntaro smashed it out of his hands. Instantly the servant knelt, put his head on the floor, and froze.

Buntaro leaned on the shattered door frame. “Wait … wait till Osaka.”

He groped out of the house.

For a time, Mariko remained immobile, seemingly in a trance. Then the color began to return to her cheeks. Her eyes focused. Silently she returned to her mirror. She studied her reflection for a moment. Then, quite calmly, she finished applying her makeup.

Blackthorne ran up the stairs two at a time, his guard with him. They were on the main staircase within the donjon and he was glad to be unencumbered by his swords. He had formally surrendered them
in the courtyard to the first guards, who had also searched him politely but thoroughly. Torches lit the staircase and the landings. On the fourth landing he stopped, almost bursting with pent-up excitement, and called back, “Mariko-san, are you all right?”

“Yes—yes. I’m fine, thank you, Anjin-san.”

He began to climb again, feeling light and very strong, until he reached the final landing on the sixth floor. This level was heavily guarded like all the others. His escorting samurai went over to those clustering at the final iron-fortified door and bowed. They bowed back and motioned Blackthorne to wait.

The ironwork and woodwork in the entire castle were excellent. Here in the donjon all the windows, though delicate and soaring, doubled as stations for bowmen, and there were heavy, iron-covered shutters ready to swing into place for further protection.

Mariko rounded the last angle of the easily defensible staircase and reached him.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Oh yes, thank you,” she answered, slightly out of breath. But she still possessed the same curious serenity and detachment that he had at once noticed when he had met her in the courtyard but had never seen before.

Never mind, he thought confidently, it’s just the castle and Toranaga and Buntaro and being here in Yedo. I know what to do now.

Ever since he had seen
Erasmus
he had been filled with an immense joy. He had truly never expected to find his ship so perfect, so clean and cared for, and ready. There’s hardly reason to stay in Yedo now, he had thought. I’ll just take a quick look below to test the bilges, an easy dive over the side to check the keel, then guns, powder room, ammunition and shot and sails. During the journey to Yedo he’d planned how to use heavy silk or cotton cloth for sails; Mariko had told him that canvas did not exist in Japan. Just get the sails commissioned, he chortled, and any other spares we need, then off to Nagasaki like a lightning bolt.

“Anjin-san!” The samurai was back.

“
Hai?”

“
Dozo.”

The fortified door swung open silently. Toranaga was seated at the far end of the square room on a section of raised tatamis. Alone.

Blackthorne knelt and bowed low, his hands flat. “
Konbanwa
, Toranaga-sama.
Ikaga desu ka
?”

“
Okagesana de genki desu. Anata wa?”

Toranaga seemed older and lackluster, and much thinner than before.
Shigata ga nai
, Blackthorne told himself. Toranaga’s
karma
won’t touch
Erasmus
—she’s going to be his savior, by God.

He answered Toranaga’s standard inquiries in simple but well-accented Japanese, using a simplified technique he had developed with Alvito’s help. Toranaga complimented him on the improvement and began to speak faster.

Blackthorne used one of the stock phrases he had worked out with Alvito and Mariko: “Please excuse me, Lord, as my Japanese is not good, would you please speak slower and use simple words, as I have to use simple words—please excuse me for putting you to so much trouble.”

“All right. Yes, certainly. Tell me, how did you like Yokosé?”

Blackthorne replied, keeping up with Toranaga, his answers halting, his vocabulary still very limited, until Toranaga asked a question, the key words of which he missed entirely. “
Dozo? Gomen nasai
, Toranaga-sama,” he said apologetically. “
Wakarimasen.”
I don’t understand.

Toranaga repeated what he had said, in simpler language. Blackthorne glanced at Mariko. “So sorry, Mariko-san, what’s
‘sonkei su beki umi’?”

“‘Seaworthy,’ Anjin-san.”

“Ah!
Domo.”
Blackthorne turned back. The
daimyo
had asked if he could quickly make sure whether his ship was completely seaworthy, and how long that would take. He replied, “Yes, easy. Half day, Lord.”

Toranaga thought a moment, then told him to do that tomorrow and report back in the afternoon, during the Hour of the Goat. “
Wakarimasu?”

“
Hai.”

“Then you can see your men,” Toranaga added.

“Sire?”

“Your vassals. I sent for you to tell you tomorrow you’ll have your vassals.”

“Ah, so sorry; I understand. Samurai vassals. Two hundred men.”

“Yes. Good night, Anjin-san. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Please excuse me, Lord, may I respectfully ask three things?”

“What?”

“First: Possible see my crew now please? Save time,
neh?
Please.” Toranaga agreed and gave a curt order to one of the samurai to
guide Blackthorne. “Take a ten-man guard with you. Take the Anjin-san there and bring him back to the castle.”

“Yes, Lord.”

“Next, Anjin-san?”

“Please possible talk alone? Little time. Please excuse my rudeness.” Blackthorne tried not to show his anxiety as Toranaga asked Mariko what this was all about. She replied truthfully that she only knew the Anjin-san had something private to say but she had not asked him what it was.

“You’re certain it’ll be all right for me to ask him, Mariko-san?” Blackthorne had said as they began to climb the stairs.

“Oh yes. Providing you wait till he’s finished. But be sure you know exactly what you’re going to say, Anjin-san. He’s … he’s not as patient as he is normally.” She had not asked him what he had wanted to ask, and he had not volunteered anything.

“Very well, Anjin-san,” Toranaga was saying. “Please wait outside, Mariko-san.” She bowed and left. “Yes?”

“So sorry, hear Lord Harima of Nagasaki now enemy.”

Toranaga was startled for he had heard about Harima’s public commitment to Ishido’s standard only when he himself had reached Yedo. “Where did you get that information?”

“Please?”

Toranaga repeated the question slower.

“Ah! Understand. Hear about Lord Harima at Hakoné. Gyoko-san tell us. Gyoko-san hear in Mishima.”

“That woman’s well informed. Perhaps too well informed.”

“Sire?”

“Nothing. Go on. What about Lord Harima?”

“Sire, may I respectfully say: my ship, big weapon over Black Ship,
neh?
If I take Black Ship very quick—priests very anger because no money Christian work here—no money also Portuguese other lands. Last year no Black Ship here, so no money,
neh?
If now take Black Ship quick, very quick, and also next year, all priest has great fear. That’s the truth, Sire. Think priests
must
bend if threatens. Priests like this for Toranaga-sama!” Blackthorne snapped his hand shut to make his point.

Toranaga had listened intently, watching his lips as he was doing the same. “I follow you, but to what end, Anjin-san?”

“Sire?”

Toranaga fell into the same pattern of using few words. “To obtain what? To catch what? To get what?”

“Lord Onoshi, Lord Kiyama, and Lord Harima.”

“So you want to interfere in our politics like the priests? You think you know how to rule us as well, Anjin-san?”

“So sorry, please, excuse me, I don’t understand.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Toranaga thought for a long time, then said, “Priests say they’ve no power to order Christian
daimyos.”

“No true, Sire, please excuse me. Money
big
power over priests. It’s the truth, Sire. If no Black Ship this year, and also next year no Black Ship, ruin. Very, very bad for priests. It’s the truth, Sire. Money
is
power. Please consider: If Crimson Sky at same time or before, I attack Nagasaki. Nagasaki enemy now,
neh?
I take Black Ship and attack sea roads between Kyushu and Honshu. Maybe threat enough to make enemy into friend?”

“No. The priests will stop trade. I am not at war with the priests or Nagasaki. Or anyone. I am going to Osaka. There will be no Crimson Sky.
Wakarimasu?”